


With Snow Far Below (from Violet Hill by Coldplay)

by melliyna



Category: Band of Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melliyna/pseuds/melliyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renee thinks in terms of snow and chocolate</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Snow Far Below (from Violet Hill by Coldplay)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fandom: band of brothers](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/tag/fandom:+band+of+brothers), [fic](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [fic: het](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/tag/fic:+het), [pairing: roe/renee](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/tag/pairing:+roe/renee)  
  
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_**Fic: Band of Brothers: With Snow Far Below**_  
**Title:** With Snow Far Below (from Violet Hill by Coldplay)  
**Author:** [](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**melliyna**](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/)   
**Fandom:** Band of Brothers   
**Pairing:** Roe/Renee   
**Rating:** Light R  
**Word Count:** 503  
**Disclaimer:** I base this on the TV show depictions, not the real men   
**Warnings/Timeline/Spoilers:** Spoilers for Bastogne/Breaking Point. Definite warnings for mature themes, violence and relatively graphic war imagery   
**A/N:** I have a happy little soft spot for Roe/Renee and Renee in general. Thus this little sort of half drabble, half ficlet thingy, written looking at much friendlier snow.   
**Summary:** Renee thinks in terms of snow and chocolate

She thinks how war has changed the shape of the snow, changed the way she will see churches forever. For Renee this church, with it's old stones will always be blood, screams and cold. Not enough sheets, not enough water, even as the snow taunts her with the lack in the plenty of the frozen white. Numb fingers, the pain in her limbs that comes from sleeping in uncomfortable places and the way her chest always aches.

It shames her that much of the time all she is uncomfortable, terrified, cold and resentful. That most of all she wants to hide, to go back to the town and the snow she used to know and see. To the way her mother made hot soup and bread, just exactly right and her hands were not always so cold, with stains Renee cannot get out.

Away from the soldiers, who are so desperately grateful for the pathetic amount she gives them in blankets, bandages and comfort in half smiles and broken words that sound strange on her tongue, in French or English. It makes her hurt and angry, that she wants to run but knows she can't, because even as she wants to she doesn't. And she's always patient, always so gentle with those men who die pathetically, in broken variants of English or her own tongue, on too cold beds that are far from farms, towns and shining fields.

Eugene was the only one she ever snapped at. He was the only one she ever kissed, for that matter, but he was still the only one she'd ever been sharp with, ever leaned her head on his shoulder. Renee half dreams, that they might have smiled more in days of peace, strolled through the falling curtains of snow, embracing it, laughing at their fumblings through their respective languages. She thinks her parents would have liked him.

Then she laughs bitterly to herself, because of course if there had been peace they would never have been here, reaching out to each other and then disappearing back to their worlds of war, of handing medicines to men who will grasp at them like a lifeline of hope. That they will fix them and make them unbroken men of peace again, make the cold disappear. This is she and Eugene - death, men and cold, not the romance that might have been.

So she does not think of snow or laughter, when she thinks of him. Renee thinks of chocolate, of grim half conversations. Of the way his hand fitted in to hers so neatly. The way it looked when they clasped them together, across a soldiers wound or in an awkward goodbye. She'd almost given him her scarf, when he'd left to melt back in to the forest but dismissed it as absurd, the talisman and promise of another age, one that is not for them, not for this world but the world that might have been, had they been able to laugh at the snow.


End file.
